


oh my god, i'm such a terrible mess

by bellawritess



Series: lashton prompts [9]
Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Angst, Crying, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Self-Esteem Issues, ahhhh emo lashton. how i've missed you, we have fun here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:20:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27708257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellawritess/pseuds/bellawritess
Summary: Nobody ever knocks at Ashton’s door after midnight, which must mean this is an emergency. So Ashton opens the door, pushing a hand through his hair, and sees Luke, dripping from the rain, standing on his doorstep, a haunted look on his face that Ashton wishes to God he could unsee.
Relationships: Luke Hemmings/Ashton Irwin
Series: lashton prompts [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2026498
Kudos: 7





	oh my god, i'm such a terrible mess

**Author's Note:**

> **prompt:** “You’re not hurting me, you’re not heavy. I’ve got you." + "Please don’t say that about yourself. Please don’t believe that. You’re so much more than that. You’re so..."
> 
> [tumblr link!](https://clumsyclifford.tumblr.com/post/624638343446216704/46-or-3-for-lashton-i-havent-had-good-angst)
> 
> title from sick little games by all time low :))

Nobody ever knocks at Ashton’s door after midnight, which must mean this is an emergency. So Ashton opens the door, pushing a hand through his hair, and sees Luke, dripping from the rain, standing on his doorstep, a haunted look on his face that Ashton wishes to God he could unsee.

“Hey,” he says calmly, and steps back as if to say _come in_ , but Luke looks down at himself, drenched, and then up at Ashton.

“I can’t, I shouldn’t…”

“It’s just water,” Ashton says. “Luke.”

Luke steps inside and closes the door behind him, and Ashton can see, from the dim entryway lighting, that Luke’s eyes are bloodshot. Luke is cursed, same as Michael, with always being obvious about when he’s been crying. He’s definitely been crying.

“Is everything okay?” Ashton says quietly, and Luke whimpers, half-broken like he’s trying not to, and then Ashton holds out his arms and Luke collapses into them, burying his face in Ashton’s neck, and the dam breaks and he’s crying. Ashton rubs soothing circles into his back, whispers sweet nothings, presses a grounding hand to the freezing cold skin over Luke’s hip. His heart twists and aches. It’s hard seeing anyone like this, any of his bandmates especially, but Luke in particular. Luke is the youngest; Ashton has always felt a sense of protectiveness, and even now, when the age gap feels a lot less significant, some of that instinct lingers. Ashton wants to wrap Luke up and keep him from ever experiencing the world. It’s too late for that, but Ashton wants it anyway, nonsensically.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m getting you all wet and I’m heavy and you’re probably tired,” Luke sniffles, muffled into Ashton’s shoulder. Ashton squeezes him tighter.

“None of that,” he says firmly. “You’re not hurting me, you’re not heavy. I’ve got you. I’ve always got you.”

“I’m sorry,” Luke says again, chronically incapable of not apologizing for existing. 

“Don’t be sorry.”

“I’m sorry you have to be in a band with me,” Luke says, so quietly it’s almost a breath.

“What? What does that mean?”

“I’m the only expendable member of this band,” Luke mumbles wetly, and Ashton feels a stone drop in his gut. “People think that. People say I’m not even a good singer, and I feel like that’s all I do anymore. I miss playing guitar. I’m not a good frontman, Ashton. I’m awkward and I fuck up and forget the words and my voice cracks so much —”

“Stop,” Ashton interrupts, heart pounding. “Luke. Stop it. Please don’t say that about yourself. Please don’t believe that. You’re so much more than that. You’re so talented, and you’re an amazing singer, and not only that, you also write so much of our music. This band would be nothing without you. We’d be nowhere. You’re absolutely _not_ expendable. Don’t even think that for a fucking second.”

“I am, I’m terrible,” Luke insists. Ashton pulls away from him, arms stretched out and gripping Luke’s shoulders to look him in the eye.

“Luke. You’re important to the band, and you’re important to me. You’re talented. You’re good at your job. You wouldn’t have gotten this far if you weren’t.”

“Yeah, but that’s not true, is it?” Luke argues, wringing his hands. “Shitty people get famous all the time, you know, and shitty singers top the charts all the time, and —”

“Stop it,” Ashton says again, sternly. “Please, Luke. Can you believe me? If you don’t believe yourself, can you believe me? Can you trust me that I wouldn’t lie to you?”

Luke stares at him, distraught. “I — I know you wouldn’t lie to me.”

“Right, I wouldn’t. And you know how much of a perfectionist I am about music.”

“I know, so am I —”

“I’m not going to let some imposter with a shitty singing voice stay in my band, am I?” Ashton says, and Luke looks trapped.

“It’s not your band.”

“Luke,” Ashton says softly. “The people who say that stuff, they’re a minority. They’re just shouting over everyone else. Everyone loves your voice, okay? And your writing. And everyone thinks you’re incredible, because you are.”

“I’m —” Luke shakes his head. Ashton pulls lightly on his shoulders and Luke folds into him, cheek pressed to Ashton’s shoulder, face hidden.

“Trust me,” Ashton says. It’s more of a question than a statement, because Luke can always say no, can always say _I trust you, but not about this_ , and Ashton will have to work around that somehow. Luke can always say _I thought I could trust you but you’re lying to me._

Luke murmurs, “I do. I do. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t —”

“Don’t be sorry, Luke,” Ashton says gently. “We’ve all been here.”

“I got you all wet, and your floor, and I just cried so much,” Luke says miserably.

Ashton brings his hand up to stroke Luke’s hair, which is damp from the rain. “You can come to me whenever,” he says. “I don’t just say that, you know, I mean it. And I’m glad you did.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t say you’re sorry.”

“I mean, thank you,” Luke corrects himself, and pulls back from Ashton to give him a wobbly attempt at a smile, which is more of a quirk of the lips than anything. “Thank you. That’s what I meant to say.”

“In that case,” Ashton says, “anytime.”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading <3 i'm on tumblr [@clumsyclifford](http://clumsyclifford.tumblr.com/) so come say hey!


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